


Precious Memories

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Series: Falling into place [2]
Category: Invasion (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: Russell and Tom celebrate their first Christmas together with lots of love, festive joy, and never-to-be forgotten memories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Triqi_Cici](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triqi_Cici/gifts).



> Like treasured Christmas memories, some friends are impossible to forget because they make everything in life more joyful. I wrote this story as a Christmas gift for Triqi_Cici as my way of saying thank you for your kindness, your encouraging words of support, and your enthusiastic interest in all of my favorite fandoms, but especially this one. It's always a pleasure to go through your messages, which are sometimes touching and at other times absolutely hilarious, as well as share interesting tales and adventures. I hope that your Christmas will be as wonderful as Russell and Tom's was. *^_^*

When Russell awoke, the first thing that he noticed was that the air indoors was unusually chilly. His nose and ears were a bit cold, meaning that the temperature had to have dropped to somewhere around 10 degrees overnight. The rather unpleasant crispness to the air was probably why Russell was being hugged extra tight by his shivering lover. Russell glanced down at the mess of blondish-brown hair tucked underneath his chin and felt a sharp pang in his chest. Although he had been with Tom for nearly two months now, it still surprised him that the hybrid trusted him so completely. Not only had Tom quickly grown accustomed to sleeping in Russell’s arms, but he had also begun to display a more vulnerable side to himself that he wouldn’t have dared to expose to anyone else. While asleep, Tom’s features were much softer and more relaxed than they were while he was on duty. The hybrid slept quietly – almost peacefully – with his head resting on Russell’s chest or shoulder, and his arms either locked around Russell’s waist, or loosely relaxed on top of Russell’s chest. When Tom’s face was visible, which it wasn’t right now, Russell liked to admire the hybrid’s long eyelashes, soft lips, and the faint freckles that covered his angular cheeks and nose. The more Russell looked at Tom, the more he thought that his lover was perfect in every way – a beautiful creation that now belonged to him.

 

Russell ducked his head down to kiss Tom’s forehead, before wrapping his arms tightly around the hybrid to warm him up. Thankfully Tom had had the foresight to put on a pair of pajamas after their lovemaking last night or the inhospitable temperature would have woken him up earlier. The last few years around this time had been awfully mild, so Russell hadn’t thought to invest in a portable heater. But the cold didn’t bother him as much as it did Tom because he would much rather endure a bit of discomfort to save a buck. At least that’s what his original attitude towards another unnecessary expense had been before he’d asked Tom to move in with him. If Tom was sensitive enough to the cold to be shivering through the night, then Russell was going to head on down to the home depot centre early tomorrow morning to pick up the most energy efficient heater that he could find. He would’ve gladly hopped in his jeep to get one a little later on in the afternoon, but nothing would be open on Christmas Day, so Tom would just have to survive on their combined body heat for one more night.

 

Before Tom had moved in with Russell, the bedroom – along with every other room in the house – had been a complete disaster. Once Russell had sobered up, he had realized what a totally disorganized slob he had become. But by that time things had gotten so bad that he hadn’t known where to start in order to put them back to the way they had been. He’d developed the lazy habit of dropping his clothes wherever he damn well pleased, all over the floor, whether they be clean or dirty. And he often wandered from the washroom to the bedroom, and then down the hall, forgetting where he’d put his deodorant or his hairbrush along the way. And the kitchen… If there had ever been a valid reason for condemning his property, it had to have been the unsanitary way he’d abandoned the kitchen – with dirty pots and dishes in the sink, and half-eaten canned food or takeout lying on the table and countertops. Anywhere but actually in the fridge. He had stopped cleaning the bathroom and vacuuming the carpets, and he hadn’t been able to push himself to do the laundry or cut the front lawn.

 

After Tom had made himself comfortable in Russell’s bed, and in his life, the hybrid had taken on the tremendous task of putting Russell’s spirit – and his house – back in order. He had gone through the clothes on the floor, pile by pile, and spent an entire weekend running the washing machine and the dryer, as well as hand washing things that weren’t supposed to be thrown in with everything else. Mainly Russell’s jean jacket and work pants. Next, he had dusted every piece of furniture in the house, taken down the curtains, and thrown them into the wash as well. By the time Tom had gotten to the kitchen sink, his hands had been red and sore from all the scrubbing, so he had decided to lug the archaic vacuum cleaner around the house in the attempt to suck up all the hair and dust while giving his fingers the chance to recover. And Russell had sat back on the sofa like an asshole, watching his lover nearly break his back trying to get that old piece of junk up the stairs, before he’d finally stopped feeling sorry for himself and relieved Tom of the vacuum cleaner, and dish duty. Tom motivated him and gave him purpose, as well as someone to shower with love and affection. Thanks to Tom, Russell’s house was clean and livable, there were fruits and vegetables in the fridge, as well as beef and chicken, and the constant ache in his heart had been replaced by an overwhelming warmth for his beloved hybrid.

 

“Russ, are you awake?” Tom murmured against Russell’s chest, beginning to stir under the multiple blankets that he had burrowed under.

 

“Merry Christmas, Tom,” Russell greeted his lover warmly, feeling his eyes well up with tears when Tom shifted to look up at him with the most expressive blue eyes that Russell had ever had the pleasure of looking into. The word _beautiful_ just didn’t do Tom enough justice.

 

“Merry Christmas, Russ,” Tom returned with just as much emotion, pushing himself up with one arm so that he could kiss Russell on the lips. When Russell began to softly stroke his hair after the kiss, Tom made himself comfortable back in Russell’s arms and glanced towards the window. “It’s really cold in here.”

 

The drapes were still pulled tightly shut so neither of them had any idea what kind of weather awaited them outside. In Homestead, it could be sunny one day and flooded due to a torrential rainfall the next. It didn’t feel particularly damp, and Russell sincerely hoped that it would snow before it rained because nobody wanted to put up with rain on Christmas Day. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t think it was going to get this cold, otherwise I would’ve put another few blankets on the bed. But I’m going to get a portable heater tomorrow, just in case.” Russell rubbed his hands up and down Tom’s back and arms to try and temporarily quell his shivering.

 

“But you said that those things are a _waste of money_ ,” Tom reminded him with a direct quote.

 

“That was before I woke up to a shivering hybrid in my bed,” Russell teased, stroking Tom’s hair again to keep him close, and to prevent him from trying to escape. While the term _hybrid_ was used by others as a derogatory comment, and as an expletive, Russell occasionally referred to Tom as _his hybrid_ to make a point of showing Tom that he accepted him for both who and what he was. At first, Tom had reacted to the word as if it were a barbed insult, which was only natural considering how hybrid haters used it to curse out the sheriff when his back was turned. But, over time, Tom had learned that Russell never intended anything he said to be interpreted as mean or hurtful. Especially now that they were in a serious relationship together, Russell spoke to his lover with nothing but kindness, and treated him just as carefully. Tom loved it when Russell was affectionate with him and would lie there for a long time if he was kept warm and content. That was exactly what Russell wanted, to keep Tom in bed, in his arms, for as long as possible.

 

“You don’t have to waste money on my account,” Tom said quietly, sounding a little embarrassed for requiring extra consideration.

 

“Honey, it isn’t a waste if it keeps you warm and happy.” To emphasize his words, Russell pulled Tom up against him and kissed him soundly.   Because Tom wasn’t the only one who had exposed himself to their relationship. Sometimes it scared Russell how easily he revealed his true emotions to Tom. He hadn’t expected to fall so uncontrollably in love with Tom, but neither had he been looking for a temporary fling when he had invited the hybrid into his bed almost two months earlier. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d wanted, only that he’d specifically wanted Tom, in whatever way he could get him. And now that he had him, he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting him go. There was no clearer sign of love than acting overly possessive over one’s partner, which is what Russell was trying very hard not to do. As they parted briefly to catch their breath from the incredibly intimate kiss, Russell stroked his hand over one of Tom’s high cheekbones and gazed into those trusting blue eyes. “Do you know how much I love you?”

 

Tom broke eye contact and became flustered, only looking up again because Russell would not let him go. “I love you too, Russ,” he admitted, almost shyly.

 

Russell smiled in satisfaction and traced one finger down Tom’s narrow nose, which was another feature of the hybrid’s that he absolutely adored. “I know you do.” How could he not? Before they’d slept together, it had been quite an ordeal getting Tom to reveal any of his guarded thoughts or emotions. It was that secretive behavior that had originally caused so much angst between them in the first place. But after their first night together, Tom had become an open book to Russell. Russell now knew how to _read_ Tom through his expressions, the telltale surge of emotion in his eyes, and in the way he spoke. Or how he intentionally omitted information to avoid outright lying. Russell knew when Tom came home happy and eager to talk to him, or depressed and needing a hug. And he definitely knew that Tom loved him.

 

There were things that Tom had done for him that could have passed off as a mere sign of friendship, like paying off his credit card bills, or driving him around when his jeep had run out of gas. But filing a lawsuit with the Everglades National Park for wrongful dismissal on his behalf, and slaving away in the kitchen for one entire afternoon in the attempt to make chicken soup when Russell had fallen ill? Those two good deeds alone went far beyond the necessity of friendship. Not to mention the fact that Tom didn’t sleep in Russell’s bed just for the sex. No, the hybrid spent a hell of a lot more time snuggling with him than anything else. Which wasn’t to say that they didn’t regularly enjoy the most intense lovemaking before they got into the snuggling. Russell hadn’t been at all surprised to discover that Tom had never been with another man before him. Of course, he had been naturally responsive to everything that Russell had done to him, but at times it had felt a bit forced. Although Russell hadn’t realized it at the time, their first night together – while wonderfully fulfilling – had terrified the hybrid at first. And the following day Tom had called in sick under the pretense of spending the day together. But when Russell had eagerly suggested that they do a little walking in the Glades that afternoon, Tom had shamefully admitted that he was actually too sore to get out of bed. Tom had been afraid of hurting Russell’s feelings or sounding like an inexperienced virgin, so he had tried to cover up his discomfort at first. Thankfully Russell was very observant and had noticed the awkward way that Tom had curled up on the one side, doing his best to avoid shifting around too much. After he had gotten Tom to confess to both the pain and the fear that he hadn’t been good in bed, Russell had embraced his hybrid and set him straight on how it usually hurt the first time, as well as how much he _loved_ him for the precious gift that he’d been given. That first night hadn’t been primarily about sex for Russell, it had been like sealing a bond with a kindred spirit. When he’d woken up the next morning, he had known instinctively that Tom was now _his._

 

“I’m going to go downstairs and start up the fireplace. Why don’t you stay in bed and keep warm until I’ve got it going.” Russell swept his hand down Tom’s back and over the slight curve of his backside, testing to make sure that he hadn’t hurt him last night. They’d had an incredible amount of sexual tension to kill on Christmas Eve, which had led to them going at it at the top of the stair landing. Sometimes they just didn’t have enough patience to make it to the bedroom.

 

“I’d rather go downstairs with you,” Tom insisted.

 

Although Tom hadn’t say it aloud, Russell could hear the unspoken _because it’s Christmas_ in his tone. Tom was such a hopeless romantic when it came to holidays and spending time together. “How did I know that you were going to say that?” Rolling his eyes, Russell wormed his way out of the cocoon that Tom had made of the blankets, and gingerly dashed over to the closet because it was _freezing_ in their bedroom. Stretching up to the top shelf, he pulled down a navy blue tracksuit for himself to wear, and a warm grey knit cardigan for Tom. “Here,” he said as he tossed the cardigan onto the bed. “Put this on. And find yourself a pair of socks because the floor is like ice.”

 

Tom picked up the cardigan and gave Russell a wry look of amusement. “This is yours.”

 

“And so are you.” Russell smirked when Tom blushed but didn’t contradict him. He pulled on his track pants and then zipped up the matching jacket, feeling like an idiot for having gone to bed in nothing but his underwear. If Tom hadn’t spent the night wrapped around him, he probably would have caught another cold and had to celebrate Christmas with throat lozenges and cough syrup instead of turkey and stuffing. Tom was out of bed by the time he found a pair of socks to put on, and the hybrid was none too pleased by the sensation of that cold hardwood flooring against the bare soles of his feet.

 

“It’s freezing, Russ,” he complained, yanking a thick pair of socks out of the drawer and hurriedly pulling them on.

 

“Don’t exaggerate. It’s a little bit cold, that’s all,” Russell said, downplaying how cold it was to annoy Tom. But there was no mistaking that it was absolutely freezing in the bedroom.

 

“No, it’s freezing,” Tom repeated, beating Russell out of the bedroom, and disappearing down the stairs. “Russ, it’s only eight degrees in here!” Tom called from the hallway downstairs, obviously having looked at the thermostat for proof.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding! It can’t be _that_ cold in here.” Russell made his way down the stairs, turned right at the bottom, and glared at the thermostat with suspicion. It really was only eight degrees inside the house. “Tom, where’d you go?”

 

“I’m in the kitchen.”

 

Russell reversed directions and wandered into the kitchen, catching Tom in the process of loading up the coffee machine with pre-ground coffee. “Oh no you don’t!” He caught Tom’s wrist before the hybrid could shove that spoon back into the bag of coffee for another scoop. “It’s Christmas. We’re not having supermarket coffee first thing in the morning on Christmas.” Tom hated the supermarket coffee anyhow. He only drank it because there wasn’t anything else available. And they couldn’t buy the good stuff because they were on a strict budget surviving on the one income – mainly Tom’s income. Hopefully things would turn around after the Everglades National Park offered Russell a decent settlement, but until that time, they were seriously strapped for cash.

 

“I’m cold. I want to drink something hot, not that cold apple cider that you pushed all the way to the back of the fridge.”

 

“You’ll get something hot to drink _if_ you’re patient.” Russell ushered Tom out of the kitchen and into the living room. He stopped in front of the Christmas tree that was standing tall and proud by the window, and left Tom there so that he could plug in the LED lights, instantly bringing the tree – and the room – to life. He left the curtains drawn to keep the atmosphere bright and cheerful. If it was raining outside, he didn’t want to know about it until later on in the day. Next, he knelt down in front of the fireplace and picked up the pack of matches that he’d left lying in front of it. Homestead occasionally got cold enough in the winter to warrant having a fireplace, but it was the most useful when they were hit with a power blackout, which happened more often than was tolerable. When Russell succeeded in lighting a fire, he turned around to find his hybrid under the tree with one of the wrapped presents in his hands. “Hey! No presents until _after_ breakfast,” he warned, lunging at Tom in a mock tackle.

 

“You’re such a ruffian,” Tom accused, struggling to throw Russell off as he squirmed beneath him on the floor.

 

“Maybe Santa just likes to pin the sheriff to the floor and have his way with him,” Russell taunted as he rubbed the stubble of his jaw against Tom’s smooth cheek. He laughed when Tom tried to get his wrists free, but Russell had the upper hand when it came to strength and body mass because Tom couldn’t move an inch. Russell might have been worried about Tom’s safety given his occupation, and his ineptness at street fights, but he was comforted by the fact that the hybrid would never allow anyone close enough to attempt such a stunt. Russell had seen Tom restrain people before with his standard law enforcement training. While it was pretty routine with the arm twisting behind the back, and the utilization of handcuffs, it got the job done pretty smoothly. But all that training was completely ineffective against Russell, especially when he was feeling quite perky.

 

“I had no idea that Santa was a pervert,” Tom said sternly as he hooked a leg over Russell’s hip and tried to force him off.

 

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Russell laughed in amusement. Thankfully Tom was too good-natured to ever be dragged into a street fight because he would probably end up getting his opponent off before he managed to free himself. Not that Tom’s lack of fighting prowess was anything unique within the Homestead Sheriff’s Department. They lived in a relatively docile town, and the deputies policing it were trained for the occasional domestic scuffle and lone drug dealer, not gangsters and violent offenders. Coming from a big city loaded with crime and violence, Russell had a bit more experience with no-holds-barred fights than he wanted to admit. However, although he did have the power and know-how to incapacitate or seriously injure his opponent, he also knew how to exercise caution and restraint. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to hurt Tom while they were play fighting on the floor. “You just made your situation a lot worse.” He grabbed Tom’s leg and held it there, destroying whatever leverage the hybrid had thought he’d gained, as well as bringing them intimately closer together.

 

“I don’t know what I was trying to do, Russ. I’ve never received training in fending off a groping _Santa_ before.”

 

“You’d better be nice to Santa or he won’t let you have your Christmas present.” When Tom tried to grab at him with the hand that he had free, Russell released his leg to swiftly catch his wrist, pinning the slender hybrid back down to the floor.

 

“Then he won’t get _his_ Christmas present,” Tom countered, finally giving up to lie there panting.

 

“I already have what I want.” Truthfully, Russell had everything that he could’ve ever wanted – love, companionship, and those gorgeous blue eyes focused entirely on him. “Are you warm now?”

 

“I am, but I’m still not drinking that cold apple cider.”

 

“What if I microwave it?”

 

“It doesn’t taste the same after it’s been microwaved.”

 

Russell grinned and pressed a gentle kiss to Tom’s smiling lips. “You must’ve given your parents a really hard time when you were a child. I’ve never met anyone as fussy as you.”

 

“Have you met my daughter?” Tom asked with a devious look in his eyes that contradicted his innocent expression.

 

“I stand corrected. Kira’s much worse than you.” Russell released Tom’s wrists and wrapped his arms around his lover’s back, lifting him up off of the cold floor. “Come on, get onto the sofa before you catch a cold.”

 

“Hybrids can’t--,” Tom began, but was instantly cut off by Russell.

 

“You don’t know that for a fact. Some humans don’t get sick for years and then suddenly catch pneumonia and end up spending a few weeks in the hospital.” And then there was the fact that Tom was sensitive to the cold, which could mean nothing, but Russell wasn’t going to take any chances. Once Tom was comfortably wrapped up in two of the throw blankets that had been sitting on the sofa, Russell left him alone to return to the kitchen. It wasn’t that Tom was lazy, or that Russell took pleasure in preparing most of their meals. Tom had offered on many an occasion to cook dinner or fry up something for breakfast. It was Tom’s awkwardness in the kitchen that had resulted in Russell banning him from attempting to burn anymore eggs, or screw up anymore hard-to-come-by steaks. Tom had a habit of multitasking and daydreaming while he was cooking, which not only ended up distracting him, but it was also dangerous if the hybrid left the stovetop unattended to browse the Internet or return a phone call. The only dish that Tom had ever successfully cooked was that heavenly chicken soup that he’d made while Russell had been sick in bed with a horrible cold. If only Tom could put that much effort into everything he tried to make…

 

On most mornings, their breakfast alternated from some form of eggs, bacon and toast, to pancakes, and occasionally bagels with cream cheese, plus some sort of fresh fruit. But seeing as how it was Christmas, and Russell was going to whip up a batch of fresh eggnog, he had decided to save their cholesterol levels by not frying up any extra eggs. Instead, he dumped a fair portion of steel cut Scottish oats into a small pot, poured an equal amount of water and milk on top, stirred it, and set it on the stove to come to a boil. Tom liked oatmeal, but they rarely ate it because nobody wanted to clean up the pot afterwards. The stupid oats had a habit of burning onto the bottom of the pot, no matter how carefully Russell watched it, and they were hell to scrub off afterwards. He’d tried putting instant oatmeal in front of Tom before without much luck. The hybrid just couldn’t put up with either the overbearing sweetness of it, or the soggy texture. “Picky hybrid,” Russell muttered under his breath, laughing to himself when he remembered how Tom had reacted to the meatloaf that he’d gotten on sale at the supermarket. He hated to admit it but Tom was cute when he was turning his nose up at food and rebelliously refusing to eat all the processed crap that the masses couldn’t get enough of.


	2. Chapter 2

After Tom had been left alone in the living room for more than fifteen minutes, he became a bit restless. He didn’t like sitting around doing nothing, so he wrapped one of the throw blankets around his shoulders and went back to the Christmas tree. It still amazed him to think that the man he loved had been responsible for single-handedly chopping down such a monstrous tree. Russell was self-sufficient in the great outdoors and had the skills to track, hunt, start a fire, create a lean-to out of nothing but tree branches, as well as find his way around without a map or a compass. On top of that, Russell was knowledgeable about all the trees, plant life, and animals in the area. So not only was Russell tough and handsome, but he was also a lot more intelligent than he regularly let on.

 

Tom loved Christmas for all that it stood for – love, family, and togetherness. He knew that Russell had lugged that Balsam Fir tree back to the house just for him because he preferred the aromatic scent of real trees as they reminded him of his Christmases as a child. Tom’s father had also been quite handy with an axe and had wielded one twice a year – once at Christmas, and then again a week or two later when they’d needed to stock up on firewood to get them through the chilly months of January and February. Although Tom’s mother had also preferred a real tree over an artificial one, she hadn’t appreciated cleaning up after it. And decorating the tree hadn’t been a simple task either because they hadn’t had a ladder tall enough to reach the top of the tree. So Tom’s father had always lifted him up so that he could carefully hook the ornaments onto the higher branches, which included the shiny metallic star that they’d had in the family for generations. It was a bit dented in places, but it still shone magnificently when lit up by Russell’s LED lights.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Russell said as he reappeared in the living room with a tray containing two bowls and two matching reindeer mugs that were wafting steam into the air.

 

“Do you?” Tom challenged, lowering his eyes from the Underlay family star at the top of the tree to cringe at the sight of two identical red-nosed Rudolph mugs balanced on that rather crowded tray. Russell had obviously been down at the dollar shop again and hadn’t left empty-handed.

 

“You’re wondering how I got that star up there without a ladder. Well, I’m not going to tell you because it’s a secret.”

 

“You used the extra long tongs from the barbecue,” Tom guessed without blinking.

 

“Damn it, Tom! You just ruined the magic of Christmas.” Russell set the tray down on the coffee table and went over to the old CD player that he’d fixed a few days earlier. Turning it on, he clicked the button with the green arrow to get it to start playing whatever had been left inside. He stood there listening to the cheerful, modern sounds of Christmas-guided a cappella for a moment, and then looked thoughtfully in Tom’s direction. “What happened to that classic Christmas compilation CD that I borrowed from the library for you?”

 

Tom reflexively frowned before answering. “Jesse called it _crap_ and returned it.”

 

“That boy doesn’t know what real music is,” Russell muttered. “So, what are we listening to?” He left the music playing to sit down on the slightly shabby sofa, patting down the spot next to him to coax Tom over. Even if the sofa hadn’t been long past its time, having two kids jumping all over it had really taken its toll on the upholstery. There were a million things that needed fixing or replacing in Russell’s house and not enough money or time to cover everything.

 

“Kira’s friend copied her that new Christmas album by Pentatonix.”

 

“Penta- _what?”_

“I don’t mind it. It’s quite catchy.” What Tom did mind was his daughter hanging out with someone who thought it was okay to make illegal copies of CDs and pass them out in class in the place of greeting cards. When he’d mentioned to Kira that he wanted to pull her friend aside to refresh her memory on the penalties associated with the illegally copying and distributing of copyrighted material, Kira had just about had a fit. Not only had she forbidden him from speaking to her friends – _at all_ – but she’d also uninvited him from her school’s Christmas concert. Tom had originally been too hurt to even tell Russell what had happened, until Russell had come to him complaining that Jesse had refused to sell him a ticket to the exact same charity concert. Apparently, Jesse hadn’t wanted his unemployed father embarrassing him in front of his friends either. So, on the night of the concert, Russell had taken Tom downtown for a free Christmas jazz performance down on the docks. Most of the people who had attended had been either senior citizens or single, sitting attentively on the wooden benches that had been set up for that particular event. As usual, Homestead City Hall had provided more benches than were necessary for the occasion because the audience hadn’t been able to fill up even half of them. Still, Russell and Tom had chosen a bench as far away as possible so that they could secretly hold hands and share a private conversation without any outside interference. Like every other free date idea that Russell was never at a loss for, it had been sweet and romantic.  

 

“I’m not saying that the group isn’t talented. I’m just saying that it isn’t Bing Crosby or Judy Garland.”

 

“Good luck trying to convince Jesse to listen to either of those artists.” Although Tom’s nose was cold, he couldn’t miss the fragrant aroma of hot spiked eggnog trailing off of those tacky Rudolph mugs. “You made eggnog?” He was back on the sofa in a second, pulling his legs up so that he wouldn’t have to put his sock-clad feet on the cold hardwood flooring, and looking at the breakfast that Russell had made in anticipation. “And _real_ oatmeal?”

 

Russell grinned and reached over to pick up both mugs, holding one out for Tom to take. “Make sure you take the green bowl because I added about a ladleful of maple syrup to the red one.”

 

“Thanks.” Tom took the mug, lifted it to his lips and sipped the piping-hot creamy concoction. “Mmm, this is delicious,” he sighed, feeling his cheeks heat up as he took another few sips of the festive drink that Russell had generously poured rum into. “How much alcohol did you add to this?”

 

“Let’s just say that neither of us can get behind the wheel for the next few hours. But at least it’ll warm you up.” Russell held the mug in one hand and pulled Tom up against him with his free arm. “You know, I think the tree looks a lot nicer with your family ornaments on it instead of the cheap tinsel that I usually choke it with. I can’t believe that most of those ornaments are a few generations old.”

 

“Neither can I,” Tom agreed, staring at the sparkling, blinking tree in wonder. The newest ornament – a laughing snowman made out of tin – was hanging near the middle of the tree at eye level, where Tom could clearly see it. His mother had made it for him when he’d still been in elementary school, surprising him with the homemade ornament, and a piece of freshly baked mincemeat pie, after he’d arrived home from school on Christmas Eve. He could clearly remember unwrapping the snowman with his painted red hat and gleaming blue glass eyes, and his mother watching him with delight, knowing that he was one of the few kids in the neighborhood who hadn’t been seduced by video games. And afterwards, he recalled the flaky pastry of that mincemeat pie breaking into a million pieces on his dessert plate as he dug into it with a fork. But he couldn’t remember what _Santa_ had left under the tree for him that year, or what his father had been doing as his mother ritually swept the living room clean after the presents were off the floor on Christmas morning. All Tom could remember was how happy he’d been to be in his mother’s presence, enjoying the extra attention that she’d basked him with during the holiday season.

 

“What’s with the snowman?” Russell asked suddenly, following Tom’s line of sight to study the unassuming ornament from afar.

 

“My mother made it for me on my eighth or ninth Christmas.”

 

“She definitely knew what you liked,” Russell said after a brief pause, obviously sensing how precious both the memory and the ornament were to Tom.

 

“She was a stay-at-home mother, so she spent a lot of time baking or making arts and crafts. A lot of the other kids had babysitters or spent the afternoons with their friends until their parents got off from work, but my mother was always at home waiting for me with something to eat, or something fun to do.”

 

“So she must’ve been the one who taught you how to be so polite and courteous,” Russell teased lightly. “But I think that she forgot to teach you how to cook.”

 

“That would be my father’s doing. He was the perfect role model for an old-fashioned male chauvinist. Of course he was caring and supportive, but he could become fairly antagonistic if he found me in the kitchen, or my mother slacking off with her chores.”

 

“I’ve never heard you talk about your parents before.”

 

“You’ve never asked me before.” If Russell wanted to know more about his family, Tom would be only too happy to share some stories with him. He’d had a happy childhood with loving parents and a lifetime of good memories. His parents had always been so happy and in love together, fawning over their only son at every opportunity, that Tom hadn’t even realized that he’d been living in poverty until one of the other kids at school had brought it up. Tom had been a quiet and reserved child, so he hadn’t had many friends, nor had he ever been invited to any of the other kids’ houses. He had naturally assumed that everyone had a woodstove in their house in order to heat it when the temperature dropped at night, or in the morning. And he hadn’t been the least bit interested in video games, which was why his parents had never bought him a Nintendo game console. Or, at least that’s what he’d thought until he’d overheard his father complaining to his mother in the living room one night about how Tom would never be able to invite any friends over until they got _one of those damn noisy contraptions_ that everyone else had.

 

“How long has it been since you last contacted your mother?” Russell asked in a completely casual – and innocent – tone.

 

Tom froze, opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. He had been expecting Russell to ask what his father’s occupation had been, or how they had celebrated Christmas. So he was completely unprepared for that one simple question to bring back devastating memories of a tragedy that he had separated himself from nearly two decades ago.

 

“Oh God,” Russell breathed in horror, immediately realizing what he had done when he felt Tom begin to tremble in his embrace. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I just assumed… because they would’ve been so young…” He replaced his mug on the coffee table, took Tom’s mug away next, and hugged him tightly. “I thought that you’d moved to Homestead on your own after college or something…”

 

“No,” Tom said tearfully, lowering his gaze because he couldn’t bear to look at the snowman anymore. “I was born and raised in Homestead.” He closed his eyes and leaned into Russell when his lover began to caress his face, soothing him with his gentle touch. “Don’t worry about it. It happened almost twenty years ago. You couldn’t have known.”

 

“I’m still sorry. It’s horrible to lose your parents at such a young age.”

 

“Russ, it’s okay, really. You also lost your parents when you escaped Cuba…”

 

“I didn’t _lose_ them. We were separated and put on different boats. They could be somewhere in the States… I just don’t have a way of searching for them. But something tells me that your story is a lot more tragic.”

 

“It was the actions of a reckless teenager in my neighborhood that killed my father,” Tom said shakily. He really had no intention of saying anything other than that, but Russell was listening so attentively and kissing the top of his head in encouragement, so he felt compelled to continue. “A week before graduation, some of my classmates went to a party down the street from where I lived at the time. I guess that someone had supplied them with a lot of alcohol because one of those drunken idiots decided to drive home afterwards… at about the same time that my father was taking the garbage can down to the side of the road.” Tom blinked back more tears as he recalled the outcome of that traumatic night. “My mother was heartbroken and became very ill in the months that followed… It wasn’t something that medicine could heal.”

 

“Honey, I don’t know what to say.” Russell brushed the back of his hand over Tom’s cheeks, temporarily drying them, before kissing him tenderly on the forehead. “And after all that, you still helped me when I became a boozing loser. Seeing me like that must’ve brought back bad memories for you,” he said with an enormous amount of guilt.

 

“Although I never want to see you drunk again, Russ, you never acted irresponsibly when you’d been drinking. You never got behind the wheel of a car…”

 

“You’ll never see me drunk again. I promise.” And then he said what he thought Tom desperately needed to hear. “Your parents would be proud of you, you know. Not only are you the best sheriff that this town has ever had, but you’re also an exceptionally fair and responsible father, as well as a kind and loving boyfriend.” When Tom made a small sound of denial, Russell squeezed his shoulder in insistence. “It’s true and you know it. And you also make a beautiful Christmas present,” he joked to lighten the mood. Russell then picked up the bowl of sugar-free oatmeal and passed it to Tom. “You’d better eat it while it’s still hot.” They ate their oatmeal in silence with Tom occasionally glancing over at the tree in melancholic sorrow, and Russell holding him close.


	3. Chapter 3

Back in the kitchen, Russell carefully placed the empty bowls and mugs into the sink and ran water into them. He then left them lying there, rolled up his sleeves, and began to rummage through the cupboards. Now he knew why Tom was so emotionally fragile and afraid to be alone. The people who Tom had cared about the most had been torn away from him, and then Tom himself had been _taken_ by one of the orange creatures in the water. But, contrary to every other hybrid who had been created that way, Tom had begun to feel more instead of less after the experience. He hadn’t stopped loving or caring for his family, nor had he forgotten who he was as a person. Russell had been surprised to hear Tom refer to the kid who had killed his father as a drunken, reckless driver, and not an evil son-of-a-bitch who ought to burn in hell. Tom believed in redemption and forgiveness, even for those who had seriously wronged him. How could someone so pure of heart be continuously subjected to such bullying and torment by the discriminatory residents of Homestead?

 

Russell had also been wrong in assuming that Tom had chosen to police Homestead because it was a relatively safe, low-risk town. He had never imagined that anyone as modern as Tom who had been born in Homestead would decide to remain there, instead of venturing off into a city where there were a lot more opportunities. Russell had been only too happy to permanently leave New York after he had been forced to attend a detention center in the Glades as punishment for a crime he had committed while bordering between being charged as a young offender or as an adult. Even now, he rarely thought about the life that he had left behind, nor did he ever have the desire to return to it. But Tom, on the other hand, loved the town that he had been born and raised in. While there might have been numerous other career paths waiting for the hybrid in a more industrialized city, Tom had chosen to stay in Homestead in order to preserve its integrity. For as long as Russell had known Tom, the hybrid had never once expressed any curiosity in what went on in the big cities, nor had he ever complained about Homestead being too ordinary or unfulfilling. To continue protecting the citizens of Homestead despite their obvious distrust and hatred of what Tom was took more than dedication. It took courage and the belief that Homestead was worth saving. Without Tom, the whole town might have collapsed years ago.

 

“Tom, can you come in here?” Russell called out, dumping a new bag of all-purpose flour onto the kitchen table. He’d gone and killed the mood by reminding Tom of the loss of his parents, so now he was going to have to work doubly hard to restore it. He wished that he’d asked how Tom had used to celebrate Christmas with his family so he could help his lover uphold his traditions, but it was too late to do so now. The last thing he wanted to do was to bring the subject up again while Tom’s feelings were still fresh and raw.

 

A half minute later, Tom appeared in the entranceway with his eyes slightly red and his expression forlorn. “Do you want me to wash the dishes?”

 

“No. I want you to help me make cookies.”

 

“Russ, you know that I can’t bake,” Tom said dejectedly, still lingering near the entranceway because he lacked the motivation to enter the kitchen.

 

“Actually, what I know is that you’ve never tried. We’re supposed to be at Mariel’s for Christmas dinner at 5:00 and we’re not going to bring something predictable like supermarket cake. No one likes that stale crap. So we’re going to make the cutest sugar cookies that our kids have ever seen. They’re going to be so perfect that they’ll make Mariel’s cookies look like burnt rejects.” _That wasn’t so hard,_ Russell thought to himself when a faint grin touched Tom’s lips. The hybrid was most likely familiar with how Mariel’s cookies always came out of the oven one of two ways – burnt, or flat and undercooked. While that woman could raise hell in the operating room, she didn’t have a culinary bone in her body. One day, Russell was going to have to ask Tom what he _really_ thought about Mariel’s Sunday meatloaf.

 

“I don’t think that Mariel would appreciate her cookies being referred to as _burnt rejects_ ,” Tom carefully pointed out, instinctively coming closer to the kitchen table to see what Russell was up to.

 

“Hey, I’m not saying that they’re _bad_.” Oh yes he was! “I’m just saying that if they’re dark brown, then they were left in for a minute longer than they should’ve been. Anyway, making cookies is all about precision, timing, and high quality ingredients.”

 

“Is that why you bought the flour at 30% off?”

 

“Where does it say that?” Russell turned the bag over and groaned. “Whatever. Get your ass over here and start sifting.” He smiled when Tom rolled up the sleeves of his borrowed cardigan and set the largest of three stainless steel bowls on top of the kitchen scale. “Honey, you have to tare it before you dump in the flour,” Russell instructed as he pulled Tom backwards against him and kissed the sensitive spot right between his jaw and neck. He made sure he rubbed his beard up against the warm flesh there to elicit a positive sound of surprise out of his lover. “We’re making the _Classic Christmas Cookies_ recipe on the right side,” he said, gesturing to the beaten up British cookbook that he’d picked up at a garage sale while Jesse had still been in kindergarten. “Let’s try not to screw it up.” He then released Tom, satisfied to have gotten him interested in the cookie recipe.

 

“300 grams of white sugar?!” Tom gave Russell a concerned look after skimming through the ingredients. “And 225 grams of butter?! Are we honestly going to allow our kids to eat these cookies in good conscience?”

 

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the pie recipes. Some of them call for up to 400 grams of butter for a double pie crust!” That little fact stopped Tom from making anymore comments on how unhealthy Christmas cookies were. “You’d better stand back a bit,” Russell warned as he took out the hand mixer and put it down into the bowl containing the huge chunk of softened butter.

 

“Why?”

 

Tom found out a second later after Russell had unsuccessfully tried to beat the butter _inside_ the bowl. Tiny flecks of butter went shooting all over the kitchen as Russell struggled to get the hand mixer under control, including into Tom’s hair. “Shit,” Russell cursed as he turned off the device and removed the butter from Tom’s wavy locks with a paper towel. “Sorry.”

 

But instead of getting annoyed, Tom smirked at Russell as he watched the butter being pushed back down into the bowl with a spatula. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

 

“I’ve seen Mariel do it a hundred times. Trust me, it’s easy.”

 

“Did Mariel pelt the coffeemaker with pieces of butter on her first try?”

 

“I don’t know when Mariel first started to make cookies, but the first batch she served me tasted like dry sawdust mixed with baking soda. And she was using this exact same recipe. So, you and I are going to outdo her first attempt by not screwing these cookies up. Make sure you sift the flour with the baking powder _and_ baking soda at least twice.”

 

“Are you going to turn that thing on again?”

 

“What? Do you want to try?” Russell passed the hand mixer to Tom and quickly backed away. “Maybe you think that a hybrid can do a better job?”

 

“At least I’ll keep the butter in the bowl,” Tom said confidently as he turned on the hand mixer.

 

Maybe the hybrid hadn’t been expecting the hand mixer to be as powerful as it was, but whatever the case, Russell ended up catching the entire chunk of butter in midair when it was flung out of the bowl. Tom had lost his grip on the device and ended up with both stir paddles pointing up instead of down, before his other hand slipped off of the bowl itself and it went sailing off of the table. Tom jerked back in fright when the bowl hit the floor with a metallic _clang_ , before twirling around several times and coming to a wobbly stop by his foot. “Back to your flour,” Russell urged as he picked up the bowl from the floor, which had thankfully landed right side up, and dropped the butter back inside it.

 

“This is why we buy cookies,” Tom said as he struggled not to laugh.

 

“If Mariel can make a turkey, we can make cookies,” Russell insisted, turning the hand mixer back on and gripping the edge of the bowl with his left hand – extra hard. It sure took a lot of arm strength to hold that hand mixer in place while whipping air into a semi-hard chunk of butter. “Can you do me a favor and start adding the sugar? I left it in a bowl by the sink… in case we mixed it up with the flour.”

 

“They have different textures. How can you mix them up?” Tom retrieved the sugar and upended the entire contents of the bowl on top of the butter in one go.

 

“No, you can’t just--!”

 

“What?”

 

Russell took a deep breath and let it go. “Never mind. Why don’t you preheat the oven to 190 degrees? I’ll finish up with the butter.” It was going to be impossible to beat now that Tom had buried it under a mountain of sugar. The recipe instructions said to add a small amount at a time so as not to jam the hand mixer. Tom had probably just looked at the ingredients and figured that the rest was self-explanatory. Russell didn’t really care though. He would much rather have fun _attempting_ to make cookies with Tom than be stuck in the kitchen by himself, robotically going through the recipe one step at a time. Besides, he felt a lot better now that Tom was in high spirits again. Tom could burn every last cookie for all Russell cared, so long as his hybrid continued to smile and laugh at his side.

 

“Do you want me to add the flour now?” Tom asked as soon as Russell had finished with the hand mixer, a good fifteen minutes later.

 

“I’m going to add the flour and you’re going to _gently_ stir it into the butter. The recipe has this asterisk beside the _do not overmix the batter_ , so I guess that it’s important.”

 

“Oh, okay. Russ?”

 

“Yeah?” Russell asked as he was preparing to add a half cup of flour to the butter.

 

“When do we add the egg and vanilla?”

 

Okay, so maybe Tom wasn’t going to be a liability in the kitchen after all. “Nice save!” Russell went back to the sink and collected the small dish with the egg and vanilla. He poured it on top of the butter and picked up the hand mixer again. This time he didn’t have to tell Tom to stand back because the hybrid gave him a wide berth so that none of that buttery mess could get into his hair again.

 

The rest of the mixing went by fairly quickly, followed by the rolling out of the cookie dough. Tom seemed to enjoy cutting out angels and Christmas trees, while Russell did his best to keep up with his bells and gingerbread men. And then the first tray was in the oven and they were both hovering near the closed door with the light on so that they could watch the cookies baking.

 

“Remember, they come out at exactly eight minutes. Not a second longer.”

 

“Sure, Russ.” And at exactly eight minutes, Tom was pulling open the oven door and Russell was diving in with his oven mitts to retrieve their first batch of sugar cookies.

 

“Perfectly golden without a single brown spot,” Russell exclaimed. He carried the tray over to the countertop and set it down on an empty rack, picked up the next tray, and went back to the oven with them. “Watch the clock,” he said as he shoved the tray in and closed the door. When he got back to the counter, Tom was already carefully lifting the cookies off of the tray with a spatula, one by one, and spacing them out onto another rack to cool.

 

“They smell really good.” Tom appreciatively sniffed one of them and glanced in Russell’s direction.

 

“No. All forty of them are being wrapped up and taken to Mariel’s tonight, so hands off.”

 

“But there are forty-three.”

 

“Are there?” Russell hadn’t actually counted them. If there were three odd ones out, then of course they were going to eat them. “Two for me, one for you.”

 

“Why do you get two?”

 

“I need to feed the muscle mass,” Russell quipped as he targeted one of Tom’s cleanly cut angels.

 

“You can feed it with that gingerbread man that lost its head inside the oven.” Tom snatched up the angel and helped himself to the colorful icing tubes that Russell had assembled near the racks.

 

“That wasn’t my fault. The head got stuck inside the cookie cutter. I can still put it back together again with a little icing.” And Russell tried to do just that, creating what was possibly the ugliest gingerbread man ever assembled by an adult. He was just about to bite into it when a blue and pink angel appeared in front of his face. Tom had done an excellent job of outlining the wings and painting on a cartoonish face with big blue eyes and a happy pink smile.

 

“Here. You can have mine. I’ll eat that abomination that you made.”

 

“Are you sure you’ve never used icing before? This looks better than the cookies in the store.” Tom’s cookie was almost too cute to eat. _Almost_ , but not quite. Russell bit off the legs, followed by one of the arms. “Tom, honey, Mariel and her cookies are going down tonight,” he announced victoriously. He passed the cookie back for Tom to finish off and returned to the oven to collect the second batch of bells and Christmas trees. On his return to the counter, he smiled when he found Tom savoring the cookie with a look of undisguised pride on his face. “Since you’re so good at decorating, I’m going to let you do the angels and gingerbread men. I’ll have fun screwing up the trees and bells.”

 

“Thank you for asking me to help you, Russ. I never thought that baking would be this much fun.” Tom pressed up against Russell to kiss him, which resulted in Russell placing both hands on Tom’s waist, lifting him up and putting him down on the edge of the table so that he would be trapped there. They continued kissing and grabbing at each other, until Russell lowered Tom down onto the table, on his back, and accidentally pushed him right into the bowl of green icing that he’d left lying there.

 

“Oops… sorry,” Russell laughed as he tried to get Tom’s hair out of the bowl of sticky green sugar.

 

“You did that on purpose,” Tom accused, reaching back to put his hand into the icing, and smearing it over Russell’s bearded cheek.

 

“No, I didn’t. But _this_ is on purpose.” Russell dipped his finger into the bowl with the pink icing, dragged it along Tom’s lower lip, and pressed down onto him to slowly lick it off. He felt Tom shiver at the contact, before he pushed his tongue into the hybrid’s hot, sweet mouth to kiss him hungrily. He wove his fingers into Tom’s icing-laced hair, holding him still as he lay on top of him with his left leg braced on a chair so that their combined body weight wouldn’t end up collapsing the table. Tom moaned and kissed him back, dragging his fingernails lightly through Russell’s beard to get him all worked up. “You know,” Russell whispered seductively as he nipped at Tom’s icing sweet lips. “I could just cover your whole body in this icing and lick it off, one strip at a time.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tom challenged, arching up so that he could wrap both arms around Russell’s neck to pull him down into another passionate kiss.

 

If Tom truly believed that it would be too much trouble to whip up a new batch of icing for the cookies, he was sorely mistaken. Not giving Tom the chance to protest, Russell grabbed the hem of his pajama shirt, yanked it out of his pajama bottoms, and lifted both it and the cardigan up to his throat, exposing the hybrid’s bare chest and nicely toned abs. He laughed against Tom’s lips when the chilly air caused the hybrid to flinch away from his touch. But it didn’t stop him from using his thumb to cover Tom’s nipples with the icing, taking extra care to make sure that he coated them well, before he bent his head to lick and suck at them. And Tom’s sweet, sensitive nipples tasted a million times better on his tongue than that cookie had. Plus, the way Tom lay there moaning and clawing at Russell’s back really put him into a festive mood. “Let’s see where else I can put this icing,” he murmured against Tom’s left nipple, before gently flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

 

“What about… the cookies…?” Tom gasped, whimpering when Russell’s flattened tongue snaked over his right nipple.

 

“I won’t need anymore sugar after I’m finished with you,” Russell promised as he hooked his fingers into the elastic at Tom’s waist and pulled his pajama bottoms down.


	4. Chapter 4

Two hours and a long hot shower later, Russell was dressed in a semi-decent pair of charcoal slacks, along with a forest-green cable knit sweater – which he absolutely hated because he wasn’t a sweater person – and a matching pair of socks. Tom was also wearing a pair of dark slacks woven from a much thicker material than Russell’s, as well as an accent Christmas color. Although Tom’s woolly sweater was a soft pastel jade, the fact that it was also a shade of green made it look like they had gotten dressed together, which they actually had. But they hadn’t consciously decided to go with similar color schemes.

 

“Russ, maybe you should change your sweater,” Tom suggested when he reappeared in the living room after having dried his hair. He looked so relaxed that he might have been floating on air, but there were still faint scarlet patches across his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Otherwise, there was nothing else to give away the fact that he and Russell had been up to no good on Christmas morning. So long as nobody questioned the healthy glow to the hybrid’s slightly flushed face, he would probably be safe from suspicion.

 

“Why?”

 

“Jesse might not go for the matching pair look.”

 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, and neither did you. He already banned me from his Christmas concert. I’m not going to let him dictate what I wear as well,” Russell grumbled. He had been having a lot of trouble dealing with Jesse’s mood swings lately, as well as him running off his mouth. While Russell had predicted that the kids would need a bit of a transition period to get used to the idea of their father being in a relationship with their step-father, he had never imagined that his son would start ignoring him and even block him on Facebook afterwards. Not that Russell really knew how to use that crazy find-a-friend site anyhow. What was Jesse worried he was going to do? Post explicit pictures of himself in bed with Tom?! Russell would never do anything so crass or perverted because he actually loved and respected Tom, whereas a few of Jesse’s so-called friends were apparently not above sharing the occasional raunchy bedroom shot. Russell hadn’t commented on the bizarre amateur pornography that he’d found Jesse clicking _like_ to, but he would in the future if his son continued to act like a jackass. So long as Jesse continued to target him with his outbursts, and not Tom, Russell figured that he could put up with it for another week – at most – before he snapped. “Do you want to open your presents now?”

 

Tom dropped a cushion onto the cold floor beside Russell and sat on it, pressing close to Russell’s side. “I wanted to open them this morning, but you wouldn’t let me.”

 

Russell wrapped an arm around Tom and slowly admired his angular features and his shiny blue eyes. Then he kissed Tom’s cheek, thinking that his hybrid was extremely attractive with those dark red streaks of pleasure on his face because Russell had put them there. “Is there any reason why you’re sitting on a cushion instead of directly on the floor?” He asked innocently. When Tom fidgeted and turned even redder, Russell smirked and kissed him again. “You weren’t shy about it an hour ago.”

 

“Do you get off on embarrassing me?” Tom muttered without looking up.

 

“Actually, yes, I do. I love how you go from sexy and expressive to shy and awkward. You did enjoy what I did to you on the kitchen table, didn’t you?” Russell seductively teased, wanting to force Tom to come out and admit it.

 

It took a while but Tom finally begrudgingly admitted that he had. That was really the only way to get Russell to move on and stop teasing him. “You know that I did.”

 

Russell nuzzled Tom’s throat, kissing him there to listen to him moan softly. “With the way you moan, how could I not?” He murmured as he rubbed his bearded face against Tom’s neck, and then moved up to kiss him gently on the lips. Judging by the way Tom kissed him back, Russell hadn’t succeeded in totally exhausting him yet. Well, there would be plenty of time to do that later on tonight. After the kiss, Russell picked up the biggest present and handed it to Tom. “Open this one first.”

 

“Is that the most important one?” Tom asked before taking it.

 

“Maybe. Why?”

 

“I always leave the most important one for last.”

 

“Seriously? I always open the most important one first.” Russell scratched his head, gave Tom a look of wry amusement, and put the present back. “Okay, try this one.” He passed Tom a very small present and sat back to watch him open it. Although Tom went about opening it in a very neat and meticulous manner, he had it unwrapped and was into the small box quite quickly. Inside the box was a stainless steel heart keychain with several newly copied keys already attached to it. When Tom took it out of the box to read the inscription, Russell hurriedly apologized for what was probably illegible handwriting. “I couldn’t take it to the jeweler’s because I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with anyone finding out about us, so I did it myself. Sorry if you can’t read my crappy handwriting.”

 

“Russell, that was so sweet of you,” Tom said with a smile as he held the heart up so that he could read the inscription. “Are you sure that this wasn’t supposed to be the most important present?”

 

“You know, I really don’t know what that means,” Russell confessed with a sigh. “I always thought that the most important one was the most expensive one. But then again, I’m only going by Jesse’s reactions to the various presents I’ve given him in the past. Video games are _awesome_ , but books or clothing put him into a sour mood.” Russell hoped that Tom wouldn’t think that, _Merry Christmas Tom, with all my love, Russell_ wouldn’t sound too cliché, or too plain. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But you’ll have to take the keys off. I made you a copy for the front and back doors, as well as the side door to the garage. Oh, and the chunky one is for the shed… not that you’ll ever need to go in there.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I want to use it?” Tom asked in confusion. “You made it for me, so of course I’m going to use it.” He hugged Russell tightly and kissed him, before happily pocketing the keychain.

 

For a moment, Russell could only stare at Tom, wondering if his lover honestly didn’t care about his coworkers accidentally catching sight of that keychain, or if he hadn’t considered what would happen if he pulled them out of his pocket in a public place. Of course, Russell was thrilled that Tom seemed to like the homemade present, but sometimes the hybrid was hard to read. “Tom,” he began carefully, preventing him from going after the other present. When he had the hybrid’s attention, he gazed into his eyes, seeing only excitement and joy there. Tom didn’t look the least bit concerned about the rather personal – and private – present that he seemed to be comfortable removing from the house. “We’ve never discussed this before, but how would you feel if one of your colleagues found out about us?”

 

“It’ll be fine, so long as any negative opinions that they may have remain unexpressed publicly. They’re bound to find out sooner or later, right? Especially if you keep bringing me my lunch at work.” Tom’s answer was so unrehearsed and sincere that Russell didn’t automatically respond.

 

“So… you’re okay with us being open with each other… _outside?”_ Why the hell hadn’t Russell asked this before? He had just assumed that given Tom’s occupation, his lover would want to keep their relationship in the closet for as long as possible.

 

Tom was very cautious about the way that he responded to that question. “When you say _open_ , how open do you mean?”

 

“Like holding hands or hugging. Or kissing. You know, the normal things loving couples do together.”

 

“So long as you don’t do it while I’m in uniform, I don’t see a problem.”

 

“What did you think I was going to say?”

 

“I don’t know…” Tom blushed and took out the keychain again to begin fiddling with it. “I’m expected to maintain a Facebook account in order to make myself more accessible to the general public…”

 

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“So Jesse _friended_ me… and I saw some of the pictures that he had _liked_ …”

 

 _Damn that teenage upstart!_ “For crying out loud, Tom! Of course I would never do those kinds of things to you in the middle of the supermarket parking lot, or on the park bench. Hell, I wouldn’t do half of those things to you behind closed doors. What we do together is private and sacred, not free entertainment for any voyeuristic psychopath in the neighborhood to enjoy.” This was going so off-topic that Russell was beginning to lose sight of what his original goal had been. “Okay, screw Jesse’s horny depraved friends. I’m going to give that boy the lecture of a lifetime as soon as Christmas is over. The only thing I wanted was permission to drop the _just friends_ act when we’re together during our days off.”

 

“I was only acting that way because I thought that it was what _you_ wanted,” Tom said clearly. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you in that manner.”

 

“Great! I’m so glad that we got that little misunderstanding out of the way. The next time I catch that guy down at the diner drooling over you, I’m going to show him who you belong to.”

 

“ _Russ!”_ Tom said in exasperation. “I’ve told you before that I have never spoken to that man, nor have I noticed these looks that you keep referring to. But if you’re going to act so childish about it, then I’m going to do the same thing to you whenever we encounter that attractive cashier down at the supermarket.”

 

“Attractive?” Russell scoffed. “I hadn’t even noticed her. Compared to you, she’s dull and boring.” Picking up the large present once more, he shoved it in Tom’s direction and waited for him to open it. “No more talk about flirtatious people.”

 

“You brought it up.” Tom opened the next present to find a pair of Polo Ralph Lauren plaid flannel pajamas in a subdued shade of amethyst. “These are fantastic, Russ! Thank you so much!” He ran his hands over the soft, warm material, no doubt realizing that they were a lot more suitable for Russell’s house in the winter than 100% cotton.

 

“You’re going to need them in this house,” Russell said as he ruffled Tom’s hair and grinned. “I’m going to open this present first because it’s obviously a sock.” He ignored the warning look Tom gave him for guessing the present before opening it, and turned it over in his hands to feel the hefty weight of it. “A sock filled with chocolates I’ll bet. Knowing you, they’re probably imported.”

 

“If you keep it up, next year I’m only going to get you gift certificates,” Tom threatened.

 

“See! Imported chocolates,” Russell said triumphantly as he tore the wrapping open and pulled out a Christmas stocking filled with Toblerones, hollow chocolate Santas from Germany, Niederegger Marzipan, and Tunnock’s coconut covered marshmallows from Scotland. While Russell usually kept the sugary treats to a minimum, he was notorious for getting into the candy that Santa had left the kids after Christmas. There was just something about the holiday season that made him want to binge on chocolates, fruitcake, and cranberry sauce. “And this expertly wrapped gift over here is a case of beer.” Russell laughed when Tom whacked his arm and gave him a very disapproving glare.

 

“I hope that you don’t intend to act like this when you’re opening the children’s presents. You’ll upset Rose and infuriate Jesse, and Kira might actually slap you.”

 

“It’s not my fault that a wrapped case of beer still looks like a case of beer.” Leaving the beer alone, he picked up the last present, a square box about the size of a fruitcake. Not wanting to hurt Tom’s feelings in case it really was a fruitcake, Russell kept his mouth shut and just opened it. When he pulled out an artistic looking grayish-blue clay beer mug with a delicately painted red rose winding around it, Russell’s initial reaction was a mixture of delight and mild concern. “I thought that we agreed to stick to our budgets. This must’ve cost a fortune,” he said as he carefully turned the mug over in his hands. “Tom, you can’t afford this after you just paid for the tune-up on my jeep.”

 

“I didn’t buy it,” Tom said quietly as he watched Russell’s face with nervous anticipation.

 

“You stole it?” Russell joked.

 

“No. Don’t be absurd. I made it.”

 

“You made it?” Russell repeated dumbly, stroking his hand over the glazed finish of the mug and regarding Tom with awestruck wonder. “It’s _beautiful!_ Are you trying to tell me that you’ve been hiding this artistic talent from me all this time?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it artistic talent. Kira recommended that I make you something because it’s more personal, so I signed up for pottery classes… and by some luck, I ended up making something useful that didn’t explode in the kiln.”

 

“Bullshit,” Russell said with unrestrained emotion. He set the mug down underneath the tree and hugged Tom fiercely, squeezing him so tight that he heard the hybrid gasp as it became difficult to breathe. “You can’t just make something as beautiful as that and pretend to be all modest about it. You’re full of talent, and surprises, do you know that? I love the mug and I love you. I love you so much that I don’t want to go to Mariel’s tonight.”

 

Tom took a deep breath when Russell loosened his grip, but didn’t try to pull away from him. “I’m really happy that you like the mug. Your love inspires me, Russ.” He closed his eyes and settled closer against Russell, enjoying the close intimacy that they shared together. “We have another hour before we have to leave. Can we just sit here and listen to more Christmas music?”

 

“Whatever you want, honey.” Russell buried his face into the back of Tom’s sweater so that he could smell his lover’s warm scent. It felt somewhat magical to just hold Tom in a romantic embrace, underneath the colorful flashing lights of the Christmas tree, while listening to some soft, nostalgic holiday carols that Russell had downloaded onto his iPhone. He was glad that Tom appreciated classic Christmas music more than the remixed versions which sounded like butchered chaos to Russell’s ears. Tom felt very relaxed against him, so Russell gently breached the topic that he’d been wanting to discuss since he’d inadvertently ended up upsetting the hybrid earlier in the day. “I really love the mug, Tom. Do you think that you might’ve inherited that artistic talent from your mother?”

 

There was a brief moment of silence, but Tom eventually replied in an open manner. “Perhaps… I don’t know. This was the first time that I tried to make anything creative without her around. The most complicated things we made together were gingerbread houses. And before you say anything, I only assembled them. I never did any of the baking.”

 

“But you said that you two did _fun_ things together,” Russell reminded him.

 

“Sure, in the garden. It was fun pruning the rose bushes together or planting new herbs along the porch. And we read a lot of the same books… She would often quiz me on the content of the books afterwards, or we would discuss our opinions of them.”

 

That might’ve sounded like a heck of a lot of fun for Tom, but to Russell it sounded like absolute torture for a child. “How did you celebrate Christmas?”

 

“The same as everyone else. With a turkey, cranberry, stuffing, and either a fruitcake or a mincemeat pie.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

Tom laughed softly at Russell’s shocked response. “What were you expecting to hear? My mother was a very traditional person. We didn’t do anything unique and we didn’t have any peculiar customs. My father, on the other hand, would take me outside to look at the stars on Christmas Eve and give me a stern lecture on how everything in life must be earned. I think that that was his way of telling me that Santa was only bringing presents the following morning because he felt obligated to do so.”

 

Russell wondered if it was too late to pick up a mincemeat pie from the little bakery down by the supermarket. If he couldn’t, he would just have to find a recipe online and try to put one together for the New Year. That might be a more challenging experiment than Russell was feeling up to. The stargazing, on the other hand, Russell could manage. He knew the perfect spot to take Tom for a bit of romance and nostalgia.


	5. Chapter 5

It never failed. Although Mariel had been making Christmas dinner for the past few years, something always managed to go wrong before she could get that monster of a bird into the oven. The first time she’d made turkey, she hadn’t known what giblets were, much less where to find them. She’d ended up cooking the turkey with the bag of giblets still inside, which had grossed out the children and earned her a rolling of the eyes from Russell.

 

And the Christmas after that, the farmer had given her the bird far too early, so she’d needed to keep it in the freezer for a week before taking it out to cook on Christmas morning. How the heck was she supposed to know that it would take more than twenty-four hours to defrost that solid abomination?! That year, the family had spent the night bickering over frozen dinners, saving the turkey for the following day.

 

This year seemed like it was going to be no different from the previous ones. It was almost 5:00 and the last time she’d pulled open the oven door to check the roasting turkey with the food thermometer, the temperature had still registered at somewhere close to 155 degrees Celsius. How much longer would it take before it reached 170 degrees? And would the legs be entirely charred by that time?

 

To make matters even worse, someone had rung on the doorbell twice and none of the kids were bothering to get off of their lazy behinds to answer it. Of course she knew who was at the door because Tom was such a punctual person that he would never have the audacity to show up five minutes late. Russell, on the other hand, was a much more unpredictable dinner guest. He would show up late without bothering to call with an excuse if he were distracted with something at work, at least while he had still been employed. Before he’d hooked up with Tom – and just the thought of this still made Mariel feel justifiably uncomfortable – he had occasionally not shown up at all when the kids had been expecting him to take them out to dinner or lunch. She supposed that she ought to feel grateful to Tom for saving Russell from being involuntarily checked into a rehabilitation facility for alcohol abuse, which would have traumatized the children and dragged the name Varon through the mud. But Tom was not without his own _issues._ Mariel was constantly worrying about Tom being attacked out on the streets now that he had been clearly identified as _one of them._ If Russell hadn’t begun to stand up for him, the townsfolk would have continued to believe that Tom was an easy target with no allies. As much as it scared Mariel to know what some of their neighbors wanted to do to Tom, she could do nothing to support him for fear of being outed as a hybrid herself. That would put their children in danger and nobody – including Tom and Russell – wanted that to happen.

 

When Mariel dropped the oven mitts onto the kitchen table and went to answer the door, she mentally prepared herself for what was waiting for her outside. No doubt more of Tom’s fidgeting and Russell’s restrained behavior. Even now, Mariel was having difficulty accepting their relationship because there was absolutely no chemistry between them. Normal couples held hands or brushed up against each other, but those two went out of their way to avoid eye contact or the need to speak to each other, never mind physical contact. As perverted as it made her feel, Mariel had begun to wonder what either man was getting out of the relationship. Were they just _friends with benefits_? Or was one man using the other as an outlet for his sexual frustrations? If she couldn’t understand why they were together, how was she expected to reassure the children of their supposed _relationship_?

 

Silently hoping that this Christmas gathering would be over quickly, Mariel unlocked and pulled open the door. Her well-rehearsed Christmas greeting died in her throat when she peered out the screen door to find Tom in Russell’s arms and being kissed in a very thorough, definitely not friends, way. And Tom seemed to be quite an active participant in the kiss because he had his arms tightly wound around Russell’s back and was leaning into the kiss quite enthusiastically. Mariel suddenly felt her face growing hot and her mouth becoming dry. Okay, so maybe their relationship wasn’t fake after all, but she could’ve done without seeing this on Christmas Day. Her first ex-husband romancing her second ex-husband on her doorstep, as if she didn’t have neighbors and a reputation to uphold. Although she had to admit that they did look sweet together, their casual intimacy was now making her feel uncomfortable in a whole different way.

 

“The mistletoe is _inside_ the house,” Mariel said with a clearing of her throat.

 

Tom pulled away from the kiss sharply, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, while Russell kept his arms firmly around the hybrid, obviously reluctant to let him go. “We didn’t think that you were going to answer the door,” he explained, not even coming close to apologizing for his behavior.

 

Mariel supposed that they were entitled to a little romance, she just wished that they hadn’t decided to rub it in her face on Christmas because she felt like the odd one out without a date. She’d had two potential suitors in mind when she’d planned the Christmas dinner, but neither of them had really met her expectations in the end. “Maybe if you would teach your son how to help out in the kitchen, I wouldn’t be stuck running around like a turkey with its head cut off,” she replied, also not bothering to apologize for how long she’d kept them waiting at the door.

 

“Oh, so when he’s lazy, he’s _my_ son. But when he makes the basketball team, he’s _your_ son,” Russell sniped.

 

“Russell, let it go,” Tom said quietly, but not quiet enough that Mariel didn’t hear. That was so typical of Tom, acting like she was the one who couldn’t contain her emotions. Just when Mariel found herself feeling sentimental around her two exes, they went and reminded her why divorcing them had brought such joy back to her life.

 

“Can we come in or do you want us to stay outside?” Russell asked sarcastically.

 

“By all means, come in.” Mariel stepped aside so that they could enter, eyeing the Tupperware container that Russell had tucked under one arm. The other he stubbornly kept wrapped around Tom’s waist, as if he were trying to prove the legitimacy of their love for each other. What was in that container? That was so typical of Russell to bring leftovers to someone’s home when he’d been invited over for dinner. He was a professional cheapskate and completely ignorant when it came to social etiquette.

 

“We made cookies,” Russell announced, offering the container for Mariel to take.

 

“And we brought a bottle of champagne,” Tom added, lifting the bottle up so that Mariel could see it. But there was a peculiar look in his eyes, as if he were perceptively reading Mariel’s automatic reaction to that well used container.

 

“Huh, really?” Mariel made a noise of amazement and simply took both the champagne and cookies from them. She couldn’t wait to see what kind of cookies these two men with very little culinary experience had troubled themselves to make. She knew that Russell could put together simple dishes, but had never seen him attempt to follow a recipe. And Tom… well, he was just a lost cause in the kitchen and would probably starve to death if someone didn’t feed him. “What kind of cookies?”

 

“Sugar cookies,” Russell replied as he followed her into the living room.

 

When they got to the source of the raised voices and raucous laughter, Mariel set the bottle of champagne and container of cookies down on the buffet table and sternly placed both hands on her hips. “I think that that’s enough TV for one day,” she spoke over the frantic shouts of Bill Murray from the movie _Scrooged._ “Your father and Tom are here.”

 

Rose scrambled up off of the floor and away from the TV set, rushing over to the two men with her arms flung wide open. “Daddy! Daddy-Tom!” Catching Russell with one arm already around Tom apparently didn’t faze her because she jumped up and hugged them both around the waist at the same time, bringing them closer together.

 

“Merry Christmas, Rose,” Russell said with a big smile on his face as he bent down to pick her up into his arms.

 

“Merry Christmas, Rosie,” Tom echoed, looking overwhelmed with emotion when Russell pulled him into their mini group hug.

 

“Merry Christmas Daddy and Daddy-Tom! Thank you for my new princess dress, my new doll family, and all those textbooks.”

 

“Uh… honey, those are from Santa,” Russell said as he exchanged a worried look with Tom.

 

“And he didn’t bring you textbooks. He brought you non-fiction novels,” Tom pointed out.

 

 _Ah hah!_ So Tom was the one who had thought that educational novels about discrimination and religion would be something a seven-year-old girl would want to read for the holidays. That probably said a lot about the way that Tom himself had been raised.

 

“Mommy said that I’m old enough to know the truth,” Rose said in her big girl tone, giving both her father and her step-father a disapproving frown.

 

“Mariel, you did not say that.” Tom gave her a look of disbelief, judging her with those intense blue eyes of his, as if she had done something horrendous like involved Rose in a serious crime.

 

“Oh, grow up, Tom,” Mariel muttered under her breath. “She caught me wrapping the presents. What was I supposed to do?”

 

“Put off telling the truth until she turned ten,” Russell joined in. He was already putting Rose back on the ground, releasing Tom, and coming after her.

 

 _Here we go_ , Mariel inwardly groaned when Russell pulled her aside to whisper angrily at her.

 

“This was something that we should’ve discussed. You didn’t have to tell her for another couple of years. So what if she caught you wrapping the presents. You could’ve lied.”

 

“How are we supposed to _discuss_ anything when you’re never around to consult with? The kids live with me, not you, so I have to make a lot of these decisions without you. Rose is far too clever to keep fooling with that Santa story anyhow. She was already asking strange questions like if Santa had keys to our front door because we don’t have a chimney. What was I supposed to say to that?” Mariel hissed back at him. “It’s easy for the two of you to come over here and judge my parenting skills when neither of you bother to make much of an effort to help me out. Do you see your _boyfriend_ over there?” She indicated Tom with a jerk of her head, standing silently behind Jesse who had not looked up once since they had entered the room. “He’s too scared to start a conversation with your son, or to inquire as to the whereabouts of his own daughter. Neither of you are fit to criticize my parenting skills.”

 

“Tom knows where Kira is. He spoke to her on the phone on the way over. In case you didn’t know this, they’ve been hanging out every Sunday for the past few weeks. As for Jesse… we’re working on that.” Russell took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “Look, we didn’t come over here to get into an argument with you. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat, but the Santa thing just really got to me.”

 

Mariel glared at him for a moment before also relaxing her posture and sighing. “That’s a first for you – apologizing.” While she was at it, she decided to tell Russell what she honestly thought of his relationship with Tom. “It’s nice to see you and Tom acting normal around each other. I didn’t need to see you two making out on my front porch, but the displays of affection are a lot less disturbing than the way you two were avoiding any interaction the last time you came over.” What she wasn’t going to admit was how hot they looked kissing like that. It had also revealed quite a lot about the dynamics of their relationship.

 

“Yeah, well, we’ve decided to stop pretending when we’re out in public. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable for me to just act like myself. Do you know how stressful it is to not be able to touch the man you’re in love with?”

 

“I’m not going to answer that,” Mariel said with a shrewd grin.

 

When Russell went over to the TV to turn it off and get Jesse to rejoin reality, Mariel expected to see a confrontation. But all Jesse did was begrudgingly get up off of the carpet and moodily wish both Russell _and_ Tom a Merry Christmas. And then Rose was dragging Russell and Tom over to the Christmas tree where a few presents were still lying on the floor. Jesse followed behind them, throwing a questioning look over his shoulder at Mariel when she hung back in a corner of the room. “I have to check on the turkey again,” she explained, before darting back into the kitchen. She didn’t want to involve herself in the whole present fiasco because she hadn’t bought either Tom or Russell anything. They had agreed not to exchange presents this year because they were strapped for cash. Mariel was fine with the idea because that meant that she hadn’t needed to drive herself nuts trying to figure out what to get either of them. Tom was quite specific in his interests and difficult to shop for, while Russell never appreciated anything she gave him. She could just imagine how they had struggled to find gifts for each other since they were like polar opposites.

 

Mariel was in the process of heating up the cranberry sauce when the doorbell rang again. “Can someone get that?” She shouted in the direction of the living room. A few seconds later, she heard Kira’s excited chatter and Lewis’ friendly greetings. She exited the kitchen just in time to see Tom unwrap that nice blue cotton sweater that the children had picked out for him. He was practically beaming he was so happy, and Russell was sitting beside him on the couch, possessively holding him close and kissing his cheek. Jesse rolled his eyes at the affectionate way his father was going after Tom, but everyone else seemed to not be bothered by it. Even Lewis didn’t flinch when Kira waved the mistletoe over Tom’s head, provoking Russell into kissing him on the lips. Mariel couldn’t help but grin when Kira started to cheer and Tom turned beet red. Rose acted a bit confused at all the fuss over the kiss, and Jesse slapped Russell on the shoulder and begged him to cut it out when it went on for longer than he could tolerate.

 

“I take it you found out about them some time ago?” Mariel asked as she came up behind Lewis.

 

“I probably found out shortly after Kira did,” Lewis said earnestly. “But today is the first time that…”

 

“I’d imagine that it’s the first time they’ve kissed in front of anybody,” Mariel laughed. “I hope that you’re okay with it.”

 

“Oh, I’m fine with it. Tom and I have become friendly outside of work, so it’s nice to see him happy. Although I never saw him getting together with Russell. Are you okay with it? I mean, it must be slightly uncomfortable for you because you used to be married to them both at one time or another.”

 

“I can’t deny that seeing them together like that feels a bit strange. But we’re all better off where we are now, so I’ll get over it.” But when Russell moved in to kiss Tom again, Mariel just about had a fit. “Russell! Enough already. This is a family setting!”

 

* * *

 

Even though the turkey was a bit on the dry side, and Lewis had been unfortunate enough to wind up with one of those charred wings on his plate, he still enjoyed the Christmas feast that Mariel had put together. It sure beat microwaveable turkey with mashed potatoes and shrunken vegetables. Before Lewis had met Tom, he had spent most of his days off and holidays alone, passing away the time in front of his old, busted TV set. Nobody in Homestead had really been too keen on hanging out with a one-armed war veteran in their free time. Tom had been different. Tom had gone out of his way to get Lewis involved in the community, making him feel appreciated and needed instead of like a burden to society. And then, Tom had introduced his daughter to him and everything had changed. At first, Tom had been opposed to him dating Kira because of the age difference, but that had quickly changed when Tom had realized that they were in love with each other. After that, Tom had gone back to supporting Lewis and even encouraging him to pursue Kira because that was what she wanted. So, of course Lewis would fully support Tom being with Russell, especially because they seemed to be so good for each other.

 

“Lewis, would you like some more gravy?” Mariel asked as she went around the table with the hot pot and a ladle.

 

“Yes, please.” A little extra gravy would take care of those burnt pieces of meat quite nicely. Lewis leaned back so that Mariel could pour a ladleful of gravy on top of his remaining turkey, and then went back to listening Russell brag about how Tom had the Everglades National Park officials on their knees, begging for mercy.

 

“They’re getting ready to offer me a five figure settlement,” Russell continued, stretching across the table to spear another slice of turkey meat with his fork.

 

“Russell, stop climbing over the table,” Mariel scolded. “Ask Jesse to pass you the dish over.”

 

“Was that the last piece of dark meat?” Tom asked as he eyed the juicy looking turkey on Russell’s plate.

 

“Whenever I ask Jesse to pass anything, he tells me to get it myself,” Russell responded to Mariel before giving Tom his full attention. “Yes, it was. But you can have it.” He lifted the slice of dark meat off of his plate with his knife and fork and dropped it onto Tom’s plate.

 

“Thanks, Russ,” Tom said, giving Russell a somewhat shy smile.

 

“Hey, Dad, while you’re at it, can I have the rest of your cranberry sauce?” Jesse asked cheekily.

 

“No, you can’t.”

 

“Oh, so Tom gets preferential treatment,” Jesse teased good-naturedly, sharing an evil look with Kira.

 

“Can everyone please stop arguing over what is on your plate?” Mariel sat back down, picked up her empty glass, and glared at her guests suspiciously. “Okay, who drank my champagne?”

 

Lewis lowered his head and stuffed more turkey into his mouth so that Mariel wouldn’t catch him laughing. He really liked celebrating the holidays with Kira’s family because they were all so incredibly entertaining. It was funny even when they were arguing.

 

“Mariel, what are these?” Kira asked as she poked her knife at the bowl of soggy green balls in the center of the table. So far, nobody had been brave enough to pick one up and bite into it.

 

“I should think that’s obvious. They’re brussels sprouts,” Mariel replied, sounding offended.

 

“Mommy, I want one of the angel cookies that Daddy-Tom made,” Rose cut in. Not waiting for an answer, she pushed her plate away, hopped down off her seat, and went racing for the Tupperware container that Mariel had left in the living room.

 

“Rose, your dinner isn’t finished.”

 

 _Tom made cookies?!_ This Lewis had to see. He waited until Rose came rushing back into the dining room with the container full of cookies, faintly hearing Russell declare in the background that he had also helped with the cookies. When Rose carefully placed the container down on top of the table and popped off the lid, everyone lost interest in their turkey.

 

“Wow, Dad! You made these?” Kira sounded impressed. She had her hand in the container before Rose could grab for one of the angels on top of the pile.

 

“We both did,” Tom said.

 

“But Tom decorated the angels and gingerbread men. I did the trees and bells,” Russell added.

 

Lewis watched Kira bite into the cookie and make a satisfied noise. “This is _so_ good,” she gushed.

 

“Yummy!” Rose echoed, stuffing half the angel into her mouth on the first bite.

 

Even Jesse couldn’t help but steal two gingerbread men and eat them with more enthusiasm than he’d shown the turkey. “These are awesome, Tom,” he praised, grabbing another handful before Mariel freaked out and snatched the container back.

 

“Dinner first,” Mariel growled.

 

“Um…”

 

“Yes, Lewis?”

 

“I didn’t get one.” There was no way he was going to let that container out of his sight with the way that Jesse was looking at it.

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mariel shoved the container at Lewis and went back to her dinner. “Okay, I’m going to ask one more time. Who drank my champagne – again?!”

 

“ _Jesse!”_ Russell said sharply when he caught onto what his son was up to. “Maybe your unscrupulous friends can do whatever they please, but you’re not allowed any alcohol until you’re of age. Tell him what the penalty is, Tom.”

 

Having been put on the spot, Tom glanced up at Jesse but quickly looked away again when he felt pressured to keep his mouth shut. “I’m sure he knows, Russ.”

 

“Well, tell him anyway. You’re the sheriff, so you can enforce the law.”

 

“Underage possession of alcohol in the state of Florida carries a maximum sixty-day prison sentence, or six months of probation, plus a $500 fine,” Tom complied when it looked like Russell was going to take out his cell phone to google it.

 

“It’s not possession if I’ve already drunk it,” Jesse argued.

 

And so the arguing went on. For sure, the Underlay/Varon family household was most assuredly a lively place to be on Christmas Day. Lewis was looking forward to spending many more holidays with Kira’s family and getting to know even more of their traditions, and odd quirks. He was almost sad to see the night come to an end. But the dinner had gone on for a lot longer than he’d expected, especially after Kira had revealed that they’d picked up a mincemeat pie from the bakery. Tom had looked awfully nostalgic when Kira had set a piece of that pie down in front of him, but Lewis figured that he was never going to learn the reason for it. Russell had called while they were taking a walk down by the Glades and asked Kira if she could pick it up on the way over. When she’d asked why, he had just said that it would mean a lot to Tom to have it for dessert. Lewis thought that it was sweet the lengths those two would go to to make each other happy.

 

“I packed you some turkey for your lunch tomorrow,” Mariel said as she rummaged around looking for a plastic bag to put the container in.

 

“Thanks, Mariel. Do you think I could maybe have a cookie as well?” He felt comfortable enough to make requests now that he’d been accepted as a member of the family. And there was no way that he was leaving without a cookie or two to go.

 

“I’ll check and see if there are any left.”

 

Lewis sleepily made his way over to the hallway with his stomach full of good food and his brain a bit foggy from all that champagne. Towards the end of dinner, Tom had taken away Russell’s champagne glass to make sure that he didn’t overdo it, which was probably the most responsible thing to do considering Russell’s _habits_. Kira was still underage so Tom had made her the designated driver on the way back. Russell would leave his jeep in the driveway and she would drive them all back home. But not before Lewis found the washroom because he’d overindulged himself on that expensive bottle that Tom had splurged on. He was halfway down the hall when he noticed where Russell and Tom had gotten to. He’d thought that they’d gone to the washroom, but they were actually just inside the living room. Russell had Tom pressed back against the wall while embracing him tightly and was kissing him full on the lips. And Tom was kissing him back. Although Lewis really wasn’t into watching two men kiss, he couldn’t help but feel affected by the love that they felt for each other. He hoped that someday that would be him and Kira because he loved her just as purely as Russell seemed to love Tom.

 

When Lewis heard Russell say _I love you_ to Tom, he quickly hastened back down the hall to bump into Kira.

 

“I thought that you were looking for the washroom. It’s down this way,” Kira said, looking at him as if he were lost and confused.

 

“We’d better give your father and Russell a few more minutes,” he said nervously, preventing Kira from peering into the living room.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because that mistletoe you hung there is too effective.”


End file.
